


little ducklings

by plutodolohov



Series: old stories [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Framing Story, Gen, Gun Violence, Murder, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:47:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutodolohov/pseuds/plutodolohov
Summary: Something I wrote in the 10th grade.
Series: old stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145507





	little ducklings

“Hello there, sir!”

“Huh?”

“Hello, sir! I would like to ask you what were you doing back there, when you were passing by?”

“Well, I was eating my orange and — ”

“Ah, yes, um, I must ask you, where did you get the orange?”

“I don’t see why that — ”

“Okay, okay, don’t lie, just follow me now, thank you.” 

Ishmael followed the man, wondering what was going on. He’d arrived only moments ago in the capital, and had been snacking on an orange and talking to his family on the phone. Oh, how he missed them. Quarter of a thousand miles away — how large the world was! Milken saw the man near the fruit stand; baggy pants, silk shirt, and turban stood out against blue jeans and colored tops. He was by himself, talking to the fruit vendor — what was his hand doing — where did that orange come from? Oh, so he wants to steal now, does he, Milken thought, drawing closer before stopping to fix his jacket — he glimpsed the flash of red underneath the cool blue of his jacket. His mind went back to just an hour before:

\----

“Hands up! Nobody move!” 

Everyone was screaming; he walked calmly to the teller and held the gun to his head. 

“Put the money in the bag and no one gets hurt.”

“P-Please sir, don’t hurt-”

“I said, money in the bag!” 

He looked around the crowd, shivering in their fear, like ducks sitting in a row in front of a gun.

“You there, yeah, you — where’d you get that watch? I like it — give it t’ me. No? I might stop if you do. Aw, why thanks!”

_Bang!_

“H-Here’s the money, sir.”

“Ah, thank you. Now, everybody, begone! You, what do you think you’re doing?”

_Bang!_

“Can’t call the police when you’ve got no hands! Ahaha! Come here. . . I said come here!”

“Please, no, no, that’s my son, please, no-”

 _Bang!_

“Sorry, too slow! Hahahaha! And this’ll teach you not to complain!”

_Bang!_

“You — yeah, you, come here.”

“Please, no, I gave you my watch, please-”

“Oh, true, you did… Maybe I’ll let you go. Go ahead, run! Can you make it fast enough? Go, run, run! Ahaha!”

_Bang!_

“Now, run my little ducks, run! Ahahaha!”

_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_

The noise filled the stone room, echoing off each wall, each sound wave seemingly racing around the room before shooting back to him, whispering the sounds of gunshots and screams in his ears. 

Milken shook off the memory and pushed the bloodied bag of money deeper into his jacket before walking to the man, who was talking on the phone now, obviously to a loved one. 

“Hello there, sir!”

\----

“I still don’t understand why I -”

“Shut up! Or do you want more?”

“No, no, no more! I am sorry-”

“Damn right you are! Now shut up and sit there ‘til Harold gets here.”

Milken tied a gag on the man’s mouth before he sat down on the wooden chair, watching the foreigner. The foreigner stared back, sitting like a duck in his cell. 

_“I’d love to just pick up my gun and shoot — two bullets — no! You musn't do this, Milken! You are a cop right now, just play the part, the sweet sight of blood would have to wait…”_ Milken thought. 

“Ah, Milken, now, why did you call me?”

“Oh yes, Harold, this man here — what was your name? Ishmael? — okay, Ishmael here thought he would steal an orange, and when I confronted him about it, he lied to me, so I detained him.”

“Ah, okay, well, this is a minor thing, easy fix, let’s just get the paper-”

“Actually sir, he’s a foreigner and as such, I looked through his bags and found. . .this!”

“It’s just a bag of money, Milken, it’s probably his funds-”

“Actually, sir, it’s a stolen bag of money, sir, the blood on the bag-”

“Blood, Milken?”

“Yes, sir, blood. That’s what the bag is drenched in; it’s dried now, but when I took it, it was dripping in blood.”

“Ah, well that makes things a little more- Milken, why is the prisoner gagged!?”

“Well, he tried to bite me, sir.”

“The prisoner denies that — look how hard he’s shaking his head.”

“Well the prisoner lied about stealing the orange.”

“Prisoner denies again.”

“The prisoner also denies murdering people to get money.”

“Prisoner denies again. Let’s just see what he has to say, okay Milken? Milken? Mil — Milken, what are you doing, where did you get that gun, what-”

_Bang!_

“Got that pesky Harold out of the way; asked too many questions, he did. Now, what do I do with you, Mr. Ishmael? Do I be a cop or a robber — Ooo! Cops and robbers! Oh, let’s play a game Ishy — can I call you Ishy? I’m calling you Ishy — let’s play cops and robbers! You be the robber first, I’ll be the cop. There you go, out of the cell, now run, Ish, run! I’m going to be a bad cop and not chase you, so run, Ishy, run!”

Ishmael ran, not seeing anything but the path in front of him, he had to get to the station, back to the train station, he had to get home-

“You forgot the bag, Ishy!” 

Ishmael kept running, he didn’t want the bag, it wasn’t his-

“Come back and get the bag, Ishy! Unless you want to be the cop, in which case keep running! Oh, you want to be a cop, do you - that means I'm a robber! Oh, this is fun!”

_Bang!_

“Oh, now the fun’s gone.”

Milken dragged Ishmael back into the police station, placing next to Harold’s body, the hunter looking over his fresh killed ducks, his prize game.


End file.
